Free His Black Pearl by Jena Cryer

manage.
    Thunderous footsteps approach us from the
left, and when I look up, the giant gray horse I’ve come to call
Samson trots over to Master’s side. The beast regards me with
little more than a snort before rubbing his massive forehead
against Master’s shoulder and rooting through the man’s
pockets.
    I half-expect Master to shoo the animal away,
but instead he just laughs. His hands reach up to pet the horse’s
broad, flat cheeks, and when he reaches into his back pocket, he
pulls out a single peppermint stick that the beast slurps up
greedily.
    My eyes never leave the pair of them, and the
scene is almost…endearing.
    Within seconds, though, a pair of
out-of-breath groomsmen crest the hill. A slurry of hastily spoken
words rush past their lips, and when they hold up a chewed-through
halter rope, Master just waves away any further excuses. He should
be furious at their incompetence. God only knows what a
thoroughbred like Samson is worth. But instead, he just hands the
horse’s bridle back to his men and calmly leads me away.
    At least I can be thankful my master doesn’t
have a temper.
    We travel past stone outbuildings and marble
fountains. Any minute now I expect to hear the word dinsi, to feel
his cock thrusting inside me over and over again while I cry
silently into the grass. It’s his right after all. In his eyes, I’m
his property, and he can have me whenever he wants. I should be
grateful for the patience he’s shown me so far, but after the show
I just put on with Miss Priss, I know better than to hope for any
further special treatment.
    God, I wonder how much it’s going to
hurt.
    Momma always said sex hurt, and I guess she
should know. Sure, the fingerings have been nice, and the vibrator,
well, there are hardly enough words to describe the vibrator, but a
real live cock is different. I still remember the massive bulge in
Master’s pants when he pleasured me beneath the apple tree, and I
can’t imagine anything that large going inside me. God, he’ll
probably split me right open. He’ll…he’ll…
    He strokes my back, and I don’t even realize
I’m crying until he reaches down to wipe the tears from my eyes.
What is wrong with me? I’m supposed to keep it together. He needs
to trust me, and if I’m breaking down into a sobbing mess every
five minutes, I highly doubt he’ll have much faith in my
loyalty.
    His eyes are on mine. He watches while I
choke back my fear and thrust out my chest like the obedient slave
White Coat has trained me to be. I stand on all fours and await my
orders. I can do this. I have to do this. Going down on Miss Priss
seemed impossible at first, but in the end it wasn’t all that bad.
No, in all honesty, it wasn’t one bit bad at all. Maybe I’ll even
like being used by Master. Or at least maybe I can learn to like
it. He really has treated me well, and he hasn’t hurt me.
Maybe…maybe it won’t be so bad.
    I’m still shaking, but I’m no longer crying
when he gives my leash a tug and leads me further. The grass grows
thicker, taller with our every step. Ahead of us, a hill rises. I
shiver when a breeze touches my skin, but my hair is too tightly
woven to even stir. Only the grass bows before it, and I wonder
just how much longer it will be before I follow those blades into a
similar pose of submission.
    We climb higher up the hill.
    My gut churns, and my breaths come out in
quick pants. What is he waiting for? Does he really need the
perfect setting to steal my virginity? God forbid he should take me
in private. No, he wants the whole world to see his crowning
achievement. He’ll take me to the very peak of this bluff and strip
away every last bit of my humanity, and then—
    The creak of a rusty metal jerks me back to
the present, and when I look up I almost can’t believe what I’m
seeing. It’s a swing. A simple, wrought iron swing.
    Corroded black poles rise from the ground,
and a long, padded bench hangs from chains that continually clank
and